


Every Night You Stay

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't Ryan's fault that Brendon had, apparently, taken everything he said to heart and decided to make Jon his new best friend and secret boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Night You Stay

In the lounge, Brendon made a high-pitched noise and vaulted over an armchair, nearly knocking it over in the process; Ryan narrowed his eyes and watched as Brendon very narrowly avoided landing on the coffee table. If he had, Ryan would have had justification for yelling at him – as it was, Ryan just had to watch as Jon, in a completely obvious move, changed direction so that for a few crucial seconds Brendon was racing towards Jon rather than away from him.

"Oh, fuck!" Brendon yelped, sounding completely delighted, as Jon put on an impressive burst of speed and managed to tackle Brendon to the ground, pinning him down and gloating as Brendon struggled to escape.

It was a pretty ridiculous fight. They were such _children_ , Ryan thought viciously, glaring over the top of his coffee as Brendon made a useless attempt to pull at Jon's hair. Jon laughed, catching Brendon's wrists to press them down against the carpet with only a little effort. Brendon swore and bucked, twisting uselessly and even turning his head in an attempt to bite at Jon's hands. Then he arched his back up off of the ground, hips pushing up against Jon, and Ryan made a strangled sound.

"Knock it off, Ross," Spencer said, without looking up.

*

Ryan wasn't bitter, or anything. He liked Jon, liked him a lot, had liked him enough to impress upon Brendon and Spencer exactly how important it was for them to be extra nice to Jon (in case they had any doubts, the correct answer was: it was very important). Spencer had told him a thousand times that none of them could have done anything, and Ryan was furious with Brent as well, for giving up on them and the band, but he couldn't help feeling that the whole thing was a little bit his fault. He had led them there, had insisted that they were going to make it, had pushed past the exhaustion and desperation and all of Brendon's issues with his family, had pulled them together and insisted that it would be worth it, that this was where they were meant to be. Now, barely two years in, and they were down to three. Jon had been and continued to be incredibly important, and Ryan hadn't known how to make sure that Spencer and Brendon knew that strongly enough. It wasn't his fault that Brendon had, apparently, taken it to heart and decided to make Jon his new best friend, if not secret boyfriend.

Ryan was maybe a little bit bitter.

It was just that somewhere along the line it had turned into the Jon-and-Brendon party. Maybe, Ryan admitted grudgingly, he would be able to take it a little better if it had been clear that Brendon was doing it because he wanted Jon to feel welcome, but Brendon really truly _liked_ Jon, liked him a lot and even, Ryan suspected, loved him a little. It was just that, really, he thought. It was a little weird to watch one of his bandmates fall in love with the other.

Spencer told him quite frequently that he was being ridiculous, but even those protests had died off eventually. It was too obvious – Brendon practically lit up every time he talked to Jon, and then there was the constant flirting and the laughing and whispering and snuggling up together all over the place. At least, Ryan thought vindictively, when he fell in love he didn't also turn into a thirteen year old girl, but it was a small kind of comfort. If he was honest, being a thirteen year old girl looked kind of nice.

It would have been easier, maybe, if Jon was an asshole, so Ryan could justify hating him – if he could even hate him in the first place. Jon was still the guy willing to sit up all night and talk and play music with them, though, who had saved their band and could calm Spencer with a word or a touch, and who continually and cheerfully made Brendon happy. Ryan knew that in actual fact, he was really the only asshole in the band, but that was harder to keep in mind when Brendon and Jon were heading off to a movie together yet again with Jon's arm around Brendon's shoulders, or holding marathons of _The OC_ in the lounge sprawled on top of each other, or sharing a tub of ice cream with their heads bent together. Sometimes, too, any asshole behaviour on his part aside, Ryan couldn't help feeling that Jon and Brendon were just being a little _unfair_.

Spencer blinked at him. "Okay," he said, carefully. "Can you explain exactly how this makes sense in your crazy little head without using the phrase 'I found him first'?"

"Yes!" Ryan said indignantly.

There was a long pause.

"Well, go on, then," Spencer said.

Ryan let out an explosive breath, folded his arms, tapped his foot, and glared at Spencer. Then he said, "I found him first!" and stormed out of the room.

*

"What is necessary," Ryan mused, "is a rescue attempt. It's not Brendon's fault. Jon is clearly evil and cunning and has – has wiles and things."

"Ryan," Spencer said pitifully from the next bed. "It's three o'clock in the morning. Can you please, _please_ shut up."

"I'm just saying," Ryan said. "It's not my fault, and it's not Brendon's, and you're clearly too aloof with your stupid superiority complex to be blamed, so it's Jon's fault."

"Oh my God," Spencer said.

"I'm going to fix it," Ryan told him decisively. "Life can return to the natural order. You'll see." He started in on his master plan, but then Spencer threw a book at his head and he came to the conclusion that it was a better idea to just lapse into dignified silence.

*

It wasn't a plan exactly, because Ryan wasn't that ridiculous; it was more of a targeted military strategy. A series of judgments and responses based on the various situations as they came, and he was proud of this reasoned, level reaction, although Spencer started making strange choking noises whenever he tried to explain the basic stages of it.

He would start small, he thought, creating a definitive Stage One made up of little, careful things that they would hardly notice. Then he saw Jon and Brendon sitting together on the couch watching Ryan's copy of _Moulin Rouge_ , and decided that Stage One hadn't been that important anyway.

They were sitting on one half of the couch, pressed close together, and Ryan ambled in what he hoped was a casual manner over to them. "Oh, cool," he said, hovering over Brendon. "I love this movie."

Brendon and Jon exchanged a glance. They didn't have to be so coupley, Ryan thought, seething. This was a four person band. "Um," Brendon said, grinning cautiously. "We know?"

Ryan tried not to glare. "Move up," he said to Jon and then, when Jon glanced in confusion at all the empty sofa on his other side, squeezed himself into the scant millimetre of space between them, applying elbows as was necessary.

"Ooof, _Ryan_ ," Brendon complained, but Ryan just wriggled until Jon shifted over enough for Ryan to fit properly, and then made Jon move even further along when Ryan curled his legs up beside himself. "Jeez," Brendon said. "You comfortable now, Majesty?"

"Uh-huh," Ryan said, but twisted about some more until he could curl in comfortably against Brendon's side. After a moment, apparently naturally, Brendon reached up and began to run his fingers through the short hairs on the nape of Ryan's neck, soft and comforting. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan could see Jon looking a little bewildered.

The trouble, though, was that Ryan had kind of seen this movie a hundred times, and he had stayed awake plotting for too long last night, and Brendon was warm and comfortable and stroking his hair. He drifted off to sleep with Brendon humming along to Your Song in his ear. When he woke up, someone had covered him with a blanket – Jon, he thought grimly, trying to disguise the lack of Brendon – and Brendon and Jon were giggling and flicking Fruit Loops at each other in the kitchenette.

*

"I'm not scared off," Ryan said. "He's just clearly a more formidable opponent than I had first imagined."

"Yes," Spencer agreed. "Also you kind of have a dudebro crush on him, I think. Following him around the venue on a hunt for doughnuts and then sharing the only one with sprinkles today might have been counter-productive to your cunning plan."

Ryan was outraged. "That was a carefully calculated and, might I add, _successful_ attempt to lure him into a false sense of security," he said. "You and your amateur attempts at analysis should go find some other bus to hang out on."

Spencer muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _I wish_ , but Ryan was a good and loving friend who did the right thing and ignored him.

*

Ryan offered to explain, but Zack just shook his head and said, "I don't want to know, dude," before handing over the bag. Spencer, on the other hand, watched him filling them up carefully in the bathroom sink with a look that said very clearly, _you are crazy and I am going to stand her judging you for such craziness until aforementioned behaviour ceases_.

Ryan smiled sweetly at him and held out his hand, palm up like a good peace treaty. "You want one?" he asked, and Spencer rolled his eyes and walked away. Spencer needed to stop being so uptight, Ryan thought, trying one out on his reflected face in the mirror. Water pistols were an awesome idea.

He kept one quietly hidden in his lap while he read on the lounge, showing what he felt was remarkable restraint, until mid-afternoon. It took concentration to ignore Brendon and Jon sprawling out on the floor, Brendon even daring to nudge his head insistently at Ryan's free hand until Ryan started to comb his fingers through Brendon's hair, but he managed. He even stayed strong when they somehow got sidetracked into singing the _Anastasia_ soundtrack together.

Enough was enough, though, and when Jon stood up and started waltzing Brendon around the room, crooning _figures dancing gracefully across my memory_ , Ryan calmly took the water pistol out of his lap and shot Jon perfectly in the back of the head three times. It was a good pistol, he thought with satisfaction; the water streamed across the room and reached Jon easily. Jon yelled out loud, and Ryan quickly dropped the pistol between himself and the couch and went back to his book, but when he glanced quickly upwards Brendon and Jon were both staring at him.

"Did you just squirt water at me?" Jon asked uncertainly.

"No," Ryan said, opening his eyes wide in what he hoped was a surprised expression. There was water dripping down the back of Jon's neck. Ryan bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Um," Jon said. "Okay."

Ryan smiled winningly at him and after a moment Jon started to walk out of the room. Brendon followed him, _of course_ , and in the doorway Jon grabbed him in a headlock, knuckling the fingers of his free hands in Brendon's hair. Ryan picked up the water pistol and squirted the rest of the water in the barrel at Jon.

Jon whirled around. " _Ryan_!" he said.

"What? I didn't do anything," Ryan told him, maybe a little unconvincingly considering that he was still holding the pistol. Jon gaped at him for a minute and then huffed and walked off to the bunks, back held straight and offended.

Brendon wandered over to Ryan, grinning. "Hot pink?" he asked, tilting his head at the pistol.

"Zack bought them," Ryan said defensively.

"S'badass. You got another one?" When Ryan nodded, Brendon grabbed his hand and pulled him off the couch, dragging him into the bathroom for a refill. "Come on," he said. "Let's see if Greta's hair gets even curlier when it's wet."

He didn't let go of Ryan's hand. Ryan laced their fingers together smugly and counted it as a win.

*

Except it wasn't, really, because Jon got his own back by sneaking into Ryan and Spencer's hotel room the next morning and emptying a bucket of cold water on Ryan's head, and by lunchtime Jon and Brendon were building a fort out of the sofa cushions in the lounge to watch Disney movies in. Ryan retreated morosely to his bunk and texted William with _would you like yr guitar tech back_. Then he panicked and had to call William and leave a garbled message about his phone being hacked and please to ignore any messages sent in the past twenty-four hours, except for the one an hour ago about that record, he would still like to borrow that, please.

Mostly, though, he just stayed in his bunk that day, listening to music and drifting in and out of sleep with the miles falling away beneath him. At one point he woke up to find that someone had taken his iPod away, which he appreciated because of a general tendency to get himself hopelessly tangled in the headphones if he slept with them in for too long. Mostly, the world and his band felt very far away, separated clearly and with a strange sort of permanence by the flimsy curtain. Then at five Spencer came in to shake him awake for soundcheck.

They were playing in a relatively small venue that night, and Brendon was really on, throwing himself into performing with every ounce of energy he had. He writhed around onstage and added more improvised notes and flourishes than usual, voice soaring, and wandered over at the end of _Time To Dance_ to hang around Jon for while, batting his eyelashes at him and spending a fair bit of the space before the next song introducing "our new favourite bassist". Then he spent the rest of the show at Ryan's side, pressed up against him and stalking towards him, falling down easily to his knees. During the lapdance from Katie Kay, he looked over and winked at Ryan, and Ryan surprised himself by blushing hotly.

It was a pretty good show.

*

Hotel rooms were one thing. Ryan had settled into the pattern, long ago, of sharing with Spencer, and it would have been weird and too obvious to change that up now. Subtlety, Ryan felt, was of the essence. He had long ago resigned himself to Brendon sharing with Brent and then Jon, because sometimes a pattern was impossible to change no matter how much you wanted it to, even if he did sometimes find himself missing the van days, with Brendon asleep in his lap and breathing gently against Ryan's neck.

However, he was somewhat horrified to realise his oversight when, on the first night in a while that they didn't have a hotel booked, Jon crawled into the bunk below Brendon. Brendon leaned over the edge and chatted cheerfully for a while and Ryan stared in transfixed dismay before hustling Spencer into the kitchenette for an urgent conference.

Spencer blinked at him. "I… really don't see the problem," he said.

Ryan folded his arms. "I get that you're not really in on the campaign," he said. "But I'd think even you wouldn't want Brendon having sex in the same room as you."

Spencer got a wicked look as though he was going to mention the Thing Which Was Not Spoken Of, but when Ryan pinned him with a glare he sighed and let it go, saying instead, "You know they're not actually together, right? That they don't even want to be?"

"They are and they do," Ryan said. "Secretly, I bet, or, or they're about to, and—" He rubbed his temples where he could feel a headache building. Spencer was looking at him with that strange, awful kindness, so he pressed on. "Anyway, I just don't think we should risk them sleeping above each other like that."

Spencer said, "Even if they are, I really don't see how you're going to stop them. You can't kick Jon out of his bunk," which was how Ryan found himself listening like a creep for Jon to start snoring. Then he pushed the curtain aside and carefully manoeuvred himself through until he could sit cross-legged on Jon's feet and make sure that nothing untoward took place.

Later, he would admit that he possibly hadn't thought the plan out properly, as after about an hour Jon blinked his eyes open, smiled sleepily at Ryan, and then let out a most unmanly shriek, sitting bolt upright and banging his head against the bottom of Brendon's bunk. Spencer yelled, groggily and seemingly automatic, "Shut _up_!" and Brendon mumbled something in his sleep. Jon stared at Ryan with wide, terrified eyes.

"Oh my God," he said. "Oh my God, what are you _doing_?"

"Um," Ryan said, and wondered whether _watching you sleep_ was a better or worse answer than _making sure you don't have sex with Brendon_.

"You know what, I don't even want to know," Jon whispered. "You stay here, you creepy fuck, I'm going to go sleep in your bunk. And if you follow me again, I swear to God, I'll burn my contract tomorrow."

"Okay," Ryan said meekly. Jon cast him one last, freaked look, and then climbed out, and Ryan crawled into the space left for him. Actually, it was kind of nice. The blankets were all warm, and Jon's pillow smelled good. Ryan surprised himself by drifting off to sleep easily.

He was woken a few hours later by Brendon shoving at his shoulder until Ryan rolled over and made room for him. "I'm not Jon," he told Brendon, chest feeling kind of tight and unhappy. At least he could tell Spencer in the morning how right he had been.

Brendon looked at him in a way that was clearly exasperated, even in the dark. "I know," he said, and stuck his freezing feet between Ryan's shins, even daring to make overly effusive shushing noises when Ryan yelped. "Why is he sleeping in your bunk?"

"Why'd you go looking in my bunk?" Ryan asked in return, blinking. Brendon made a humming noise and curled in close, fitting Ryan around him as he liked.

"Bad dream," he said. "Duh."

The next morning, Ryan bought Jon a cupcake at the first rest stop. Cultivating a false sense of security was important.

*

"Ryan," Spencer said. "You're going to break the plate."

Ryan shot him a steely look and then went back to stabbing his pancakes. On the other side of the table, Brendon was laughing and making aeroplane noises while feeding Jon bits of waffle on his fork. Jon, Ryan noticed with grim satisfaction, had stopped laughing and was now casting increasingly uneasy looks at Ryan.

"Ryan," Spencer said, and Ryan looked at him, chin tilted up defiantly. " _Stop_ it."

Ryan shoved his chair backwards with a scraping clatter. The food at this place was gross, anyway. "I'll be on the bus," he snapped, and then stalked out without looking back.

*

Ryan had given up on trying to be subtle. The time for indirect action was past (Spencer would probably argue that Ryan had never been great at the whole indirect action thing, but Spencer was a traitor to the cause and should not be listened to). Ryan sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his back against the wall and didn't even pretend to be reading his book. Instead, he watched Jon play Nintendo DS on the sofa, Brendon dozing lightly on Jon's shoulder. Jon had a kind of strained look about him that made Ryan sure he was more than aware of Ryan's stare. Ryan tried to be objective about his mission and not enjoy himself too much.

After a little while, Jon's cell rang and he paused his game, lightly shrugging Brendon off his shoulder in order to stand up and answer it. He didn't leave the room, though, perching on the arm of the sofa, and Ryan didn't take his eyes off him, not even when Brendon stirred and came over to slide to the floor beside Ryan.

"What are we doing?" Brendon whispered, voice sliding up halfway through his sentence on a yawn.

Ryan considered his answer for a moment and then shrugged. "Watching Jon," he admitted.

"'Kay," Brendon murmured, and then slumped sideways onto Ryan and went back to sleep.

Ryan didn't look away from Jon, but after a while he shifted to put his arm around Brendon's shoulders and draw him in closer, anchoring him place.

*

Pete flew up to see them halfway through the tour, and Spencer got a stupidly relieved look and shoved Ryan towards him, saying, like the worst best friend he so clearly was, "Please, please take him out for a while."

Ryan scowled and opened his mouth but Pete just saluted Spencer and slung an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "Just what I always wanted," he said cheerfully. "A little Ryan Ross all of my own. Come stay with me tonight, dude, we need a Sleepover Princes reunion."

As a matter of fact, Ryan had actually really missed Pete, so he went with him readily enough. It was probably a good idea, anyway – Spencer had started wearing his pinched, annoyed face all the time, and Brendon seemed weirdly pissed off too, watching them go with his lips pressed together in a thin white line.

It was a good night. Pete managed to sense the bad mood that Ryan had been in all tour but after asking once if everything was okay and being met with a shrug and averted gaze, he seemed content to just let it lie, switching around the channels until he found the marathon of some terrible reality TV show. Ryan was secretly glad for how well Pete knew him; they stayed up until nearly four in the morning talking, and went out the next day to find the city's book and music stores, having lunch in a cool vegetarian café that had been recommended to Pete by a friend who lived nearby.

In the end, they didn't get around to meeting up with the other guys until soundcheck that night, at which point Brendon grabbed Ryan's hand to pull him over to the piano and listen to a variation in _Lying_ that Brendon had apparently come up with last night. It sounded a lot like the normal version of _Lying_ , but Brendon looked kind of tired and grumpy, so Ryan said it was really good and that Brendon should definitely put it in.

He glanced up in time to see Pete approach Jon from behind, and pat him on the back in greeting, and was gratified to see Jon jump almost a foot into the air. Jon whirled around to a bemused looking Pete, eyes darting around until they landed, clearly relieved, on a Ryan who was apparently a safe enough distance away.

Ryan smiled, showing all his teeth.

*

In the end, Ryan had always been pretty good at settling into patterns, and this one wasn't that different to any other. It was almost fun, coming up with new ways to make his presence known, and he managed to find a cruel albeit somewhat guilty pleasure in watching Jon look steadily more and more harassed with every day that Ryan reminded him he was watching, every incident of forcibly squeezing himself between Brendon and Jon.

The only trouble was that it didn't seem to be having a huge effect on the actual _problem_. Jon and Brendon spent as many hours cocooned together as always, and now Jon had developed a habit of going _out_ with Brendon. Possibly, Ryan admitted, this had something to do with not being around him. It didn't make it any less frustrating, though, and Ryan was starting to lose his patience.

Unfortunately, Spencer was beginning to lose his patience as well. One morning, he caught Ryan hovering outside the bathroom humming _Every Breath You Take_ by The Police while Jon shaved inside, and made a somewhat frightening face. Enough was, apparently, enough.

"That's it," Spencer said, and, grabbing his arm, dragged him into the lounge, slamming the door behind him. Ryan blinked at him, but Spencer put his hands on his hips and said, voice low and dangerous, "That is _it_ , Ryan Ross."

"What?" Ryan asked innocently. "I'm just following the plan!"

"The plan," Spencer said, from between gritted teeth, "if you can call it that, and I think the Delusional Actions of a Madman might be more appropriate—"

"Hey!"

"—is going to make Jon leave the band," Spencer continued, glaring. "This _has to stop_ , Ryan. It was funny and then it was annoying and now it's fucking ridiculous. You _can't_ pick on Jon just because you don't have the balls to—"

"Don't," Ryan warned, because he really didn't like this habit Spencer was beginning to pick up of trying to talk about the Thing Which Was Not Spoken Of.

Still scowling darkly, Spencer said, "Fine. But if you don't cut this out right the fuck now, _I'm_ going to stop it."

Ryan folded his arms. "Oh, yeah?" he said. "How exactly do you plan to do that?"

"I haven't decided yet," Spencer said. "Maybe I'll ask Brendon for help."

Ryan swallowed hard. "Spencer," he began in a low voice.

Spencer shook his head, eyes bright and angry. "You're a coward," he said, and a sudden, irrepressible fury welled in Ryan's chest, dark and restless and irrational, rising in his throat like bile.

He turned on his heel and walked out to the kitchenette, Spencer following closely behind him. Jon looked up cautiously and, in one of his less brilliant moments, Ryan said, "Hey, Jon. _Blood_ ," and then stormed off to his bunk for the rest of the day.

*

They arrived in Denver the night before they were due to play the show, and Ryan was forced to emerge grumpily from his bunk to go meet the rest of them in the lobby of the hotel. Brendon had come to ask tentatively if he wanted to go to dinner with them, but Ryan had – in a move he wasn't exactly proud of – pretended to be asleep. He didn't move until Zack texted him to _get ur ass in here_.

In the lobby, they all looked kind of pissed, with the exception of Jon, who was smiling in a secretive sort of way.

"Hey," Ryan mumbled to Spencer, trying to calculate in his head how many minutes it might conceivably be before he could get upstairs and into bed and ignore the world again. "You got the key card?"

"You're rooming with me," Brendon snapped. "Come on." He strode off towards the elevators and after a slightly stunned moment, they all followed him.

In the elevator, Ryan said, "Why aren't I—"

"Because you're rooming with me," Brendon said shortly. "Now shut up, I'm not talking to you."

"Um, Ryan said, startled. "Okay." Jon made a sound that was suspiciously like a giggle.

The ride in the elevator seemed to stretch on into a ridiculously awkward forever, and Ryan was almost relieved when they got to the floor. Brendon shoved ahead of him with unnecessary force, though, and walked too fast down the corridor to keep up with. He stood impatiently at the door until Ryan got there, and then nodded a decidedly nicer goodnight to Spencer and Jon.

"Um," Ryan said, when he had got inside with his bag. "I don't really know what I did—"

"I'm still not talking to you, fucker," Brendon said fiercely, and kissed him.

For a moment, Ryan couldn't move. Then Brendon made an impatient noise and bit at his lip, wrapping his arms around Ryan's shoulders and dragging him closer. Ryan opened his mouth on a gasp and grabbed at Brendon, pulling him up and in, closing his eyes. Brendon was small and wiry and pressed all up against him with a kind of strength that Ryan had never really expected. He curled his fingers through Ryan's carefully styled hair and tugged, walking him backwards until Ryan's knees hit the bed and he tumbled down in surprise.

Brendon just shoved impatiently at him, pushing him backwards until Brendon could stretch out on top of him, knees on either side of Ryan's hips, and lick his way into Ryan's mouth; hard, bruising kisses that made Ryan breathe in ragged gulps and have trouble thinking about anything else beyond Brendon's hands on him, Brendon's mouth hot against his, Brendon's weight heavy and settled and _there_.

"I – what," he managed to say, and Brendon's mouth slid messily off his, down to bite at Ryan's jaw, a little too hard to be entirely friendly, and then down Ryan's throat, hot against his pulse. He pressed his hips down against Ryan's and Ryan groaned and arched up into the touch, said stupidly, "Brendon."

"You're an asshole," Brendon said, looking up. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, and Ryan slid his hands into Brendon's hair, tugged him down for another kiss. Brendon was too good at this, he thought dizzily, hard and messy and fucking brilliant, and Ryan never wanted to do anything else ever again.

"Seriously," Brendon said, pulling off, and Ryan kind of knew what he was talking about, even though he didn't really want to admit it. "An _asshole_."

"I thought," Ryan began weakly.

"I _know_ what you thought," Brendon told him. " _Jon_? Seriously? That's so fucking offensive, Ryan, I spend the past fucking three years in love with you and you think I'm going to be distracted by the first nice bassist who wanders across my path?"

"I didn't know," Ryan croaked. Brendon's eyes were very bright. "I didn't know that. That you were – I never knew."

"Well, now you do," Brendon said, and Ryan propped himself up on his elbows and, in a feat that impressed even himself, rolled them over until Brendon was clinging to him, trapped beneath Ryan's body. Ryan was disinclined, at this point, to ever really let Brendon go anywhere else – this bed, this room seemed a perfectly nice place to spend the rest of their lives, and he kissed Brendon and kissed him and kissed him.

"I was going crazy," he said when they broke away again, foreheads pressed together, taking in twin noisy breaths. "I was – Brendon, you have no idea—"

"Don't tell me what I don't have," Brendon said, almost snarling. "Sleepover Princes, you fucking prick—"

Ryan laughed, breathless and surprised. "Hey, I wasn't the one who spent every spare second with goddamn perfect _Jon Walker_."

Brendon grinned up at him with all his teeth and said, pleased and vicious, "Jon Walker _is_ perfect," and Ryan kissed him.

*

"Um," Ryan said, sidling up to Jon. "here."

Jon took the paper bag off of him and said, "Thanks?" Then he reached inside and pulled out what Ryan was pretty sure was the biggest cupcake in the tri-state area, and smiled.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled. Jon laughed, carefully set the cupcake aside, and pulled him into a hug.

"You are a really creepy guy, you know," Jon said, and Ryan nodded and tried not to sniff Jon's shoulder too obviously. Jon still smelled really awesome, but Ryan had a feeling that commenting on that would also feel under the 'really creepy' category, and that he should avoid that for a while rather than invoke some more of Spencer's wrath.

"Oh my God," Brendon said from the doorway. "Oh my God, Spence, are you seeing this?"

"Ryan gave Jon a _hug_ ," Spencer said solemnly. "He must be in love with him!"

"I'm heartbroken," Brendon said. "I guess I'll go watch Jon sleep until I feel better."

Ryan turned around and flipped him off, but Brendon was closer than he expected. He caught Ryan's hand in the air, and didn't let go.


End file.
